


Welcome Home With Open Arms

by thunder_fox_7



Category: Dream SMP (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fire, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's really mostly fluff, Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Poison, Raccoon Hybrid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Raccoon Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot-centric, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Zombies, and found family, if that makes sense?, mostly fluff tbh, ok so i guess it's more like minecraft irl but also an alternate universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunder_fox_7/pseuds/thunder_fox_7
Summary: “Um- Thank you, mister,” the kid says, shaking Phil out of his thoughts. The little one is trying to hand him the empty bottle, and he takes it.“Of course, mate. You feel better?” The boy nods. “What’s your name?”“Wilbur! And this is my baby brother, Tommy!” Tommy waves at him. Phil waves back.ORPhil adopts Wilbur and Tommy, two raccoon hybrids with nowhere else to go.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 242





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cw for first chapter: fire, zombies, panic attack (?), hunger, i think that's it? if not let me know

Soot and ash fill his lungs as Wilbur sprints away from the inferno that had once been a peaceful village, younger brother in his arms. He dashes toward the trees, feet pounding on the soft dirt, and is almost to the treeline when a he lands wrong on a rock and trips forward. Some instinct takes over (protect protect protectprotectprotect-) and he twists mid fall, landing hard on his butt, but keeping the shaking bundle in his arms safely off the ground. A groan fills the air, not louder than the fire but different enough to catch his attention, and he looks up, a gasp leaving him. He wraps his arms more tightly around Tommy, holding him close and keeping his head down as he makes eye contact with the figure before him.

A zombie stares back, unbothered by the flames that engulf it. The smell of rotting, burning flesh filled his nostrils, threatening to choke him more than the smoke. His brother’s hand grasped the collar of his pajama shirt tighter as a sob leaves him. The zombie takes one ambling step toward them, flesh falling off bone in chunks and landing on the ground with a horrible splat noise. Wilbur can’t move. Can’t breathe. He's shaking, tears falling down his face and into his brother’s blonde hair unchecked and likely unnoticed. It takes another step closer. And closer. And closer.

It’s steps grow slower each time; while the zombie is unfazed by the sheer heat, it’s body is not. Flesh and fat and muscle and blood continued to slide off the bones, which occasionally fall with it. It reaches out. Wilbur curls tighter around his baby brother, tail wrapping around both of them. Finally, only about a meter away from where Wilbur sits, the flame finally consumes the once-living body of the undead creature. Its hand, still reaching for them, falls to the ground, blackening and melting. Its groaning stops. The fire doesn’t.

The orange blaze reaches toward the sky, consuming the houses and the school and the church and the courtyard and his entire home. Smoke coveres the moon and stars above. Tommy cried in his arms, and Wilbur stared at the ashy skull that had landed in the dirt. It stares back, hollow and unseeing. He should have run, but he is tired, weak, and hardly ten years old. Instead, he holds his baby brother to his chest and sobs along side him, his world crashing down before his very eyes.

\-----

It’s his brother’s cries that rouse him in the morning, having passed out from exhaustion. He is lying in the dirt, still curled protectively around the three-year old boy in his arms. The smell of burnt flesh is still in his nose, ash in his lungs. He slowly, painstakingly sits up from where he’d tripped the night before, pulling his brother away from his chest just enough so he can look at him. The boy is hiccuping from his tears. 

He goes to open his mouth, but when the words try to leave him they get caught in his throat, dried out from the smoke. He clears his throat and tries again. “W-what’s wrong, Toms?” It’s a stupid question. A more accurate one would be ‘what’s not wrong,’ because the answer would be shorter: nothing.

The young boy looks up at him, blue eyes shining with tears (Wilbur isn’t sure how he still has any, after the amount of crying he’d done last night and the lack of water). “H-hurts.”

Wilbur immediately panics, looking his brother over for injuries, big or small, and finds nothing. “What hurts? What hurts, Tommy?” he asks, scared that sometime in the night his brother had gotten injured (bruised, burned, broken, he didn’t know. He didn’t know how to deal with that). Tommy, who is normally the loudest person in the room, who hadn’t shut up from the moment he started babbling, doesn’t say anything. Instead, he sniffles and gestures to his stomach. Wilbur is temporarily relieved. _He’s not injured. Just hungry. Thank the sky gods._

The relief is immediately replaced by panic once again when he realizes he has no food. No way to get his brother what he needs. No one to ask for help. He’s alone, holding a three-year-old boy in front of the charred remains of their home. He wants to cry. He can’t. Wilbur has to be strong. _For Tommy._

“You’re hungry?” Tommy nods, triangular ears perking up slightly. “Ok. Let’s- um- let’s get you some breakfast!” Wilbur’s smile feels stiff and unnatural, but Tommy just smiles back. Wilbur needs to protect that smile, whatever the cost.

Legs shaking, the boy stands. His joints are stiff from the way he’d slept, clutching his brother tightly and his balance is off, but he manages nonetheless. He tucks Tommy into his side, the way he’d seen his mother do. He coughs once, twice, and stops himself before falling into a coughing fit. There is still ash in his lungs. Tommy’s tiny hand still clings to his collar.

He looks back at the village, not even a skeleton of itself, all black and burned and threatening to crumble in the wind. His childhood home is gone. His parents are gone. His friends are gone. His life is gone. His vision goes blurry with tears. He doesn’t cry.

Slowly but surely, he makes his way into the woods. He knows his way around there, he’s sure he can find something to eat. He has to find something to eat. He has to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: poison

Nearly an hour of wandering among the trees and Wilbur is starting to feel hopeless. He can’t find anything, not even berries, and his stomach is  getting to be  past the point of hunger pains. Tommy had started crying again just a little bit ago,  lasting only a few minutes before running out of tears. He’d resorted to occasionally whimpering into Wilbur’s shoulder instead, which was notably worse.

His eyes scan their surroundings again, looking at the green bushes for any sign of something edible. He knew there were berries out here, somewhere, his dad had showed them to him once when he asked to tag along on one of his fishing trips to the nearest lake. All he saw was green, green, green, green, red- wait. There!

He moved swiftly to the berry bush he’d spotted, nearing tears of relief. Finally, something to eat. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Look Tommy! Breakfast!” His grin felt almost genuine this time. Tommy looked confused for just a moment before following his lead and smiling widely.

Wilbur set  the boy down on the ground at his feet, and  he clung to his leg. As his hand reached toward the berries, he was hit by a sudden memory.

“ _Here, Wil. See these?” The boy nodded, looking at the red fruits in his father’s hand._

“ _They look good, don’t they?” Wil nodded again, more vigorously this time. His father’s grin turned more serious. “Well, they’re a trap, son. They look tasty, and they taste sweet, but really they’re very poisonous. You can’t eat them, ok?”_

_Wilbur was disappointed, but he muttered an understanding anyway._

“ _Now these, on the other hand, are fine to eat. See?” His father took a nearly identical berry off a different bush and popped it in his mouth. He handed one to Wilbur, who ate it and promptly made a face at the sour taste. His father laughed and ruffled his hair, right between his ears._

“ _Kind of sour, huh?_

“ _Just remember, son. If you ever see berries in the forest, don’t eat them unless you’re one hundred percent sure they’re safe. If you aren’t, then don’t. It’s better to go hungry than to die for a sour berry.”_

Wilbur knows he shouldn’t. His father had explained the difference between the edible and the poisonous berries, but at this point he no longer remembers. He’s hungry. Tommy’s hungry. There are berries with a 50/50 chance of killing him. He shouldn’t.

His hand grasped one of the berries anyway, pulling it off the bush. He polishes it on his shirt. He takes a look at it, closely inspecting it for- what? He doesn’t know. He decides to eat the berry first. If it’s fine, then he can give some to Tommy (the berries weren’t much, but they were something. Something was better than the nothing they’d had all day). If it isn’t- well. He’d rather die than kill his brother through a stupid mistake (he knows if he dies then there’s no one around to look after Tommy. He doesn’t think about that).

He pops the berry into his mouth and bites down on it. It’s sweet.

\-----

Phil’s not sure why he’s chosen to walk through the woods today. Frankly, it’s a terrible idea. His feet are sore, his bag is heavy, and it’s taking approximately a million times longer to get where he’s going than it would be if he flew, which he can’t do now because the branches above him are too thick and he _really_ doesn’t want to have to climb a tree.

It’s just as he ducks under yet _another_ branch as it tries to hit him in the face that he hears something. A child’s voice filters through the air, drifting between the trees. Phil freezes, listening closely. When after a moment or two he doesn’t hear anything beyond the gentle bird calls and buzzing insects, he steps forward, toward where he thinks the sound came from. There, just ahead, partially obscured by bushes and trees, stands a young boy.

He’s wearing what look to be pajamas (they look dirty) and is standing in front of a berry bush (from this distance Phil can’t tell what kind of berries they are, but they’re bright red). There’s a smaller boy, who can’t be older than three, sitting at his feet. Both of them have raccoon ears and tails, and from what Phil can see of the younger kid, they have raccoon-like masks over their eyes.

The older boy reaches forward, hesitating only slightly, and picks one of the berries. He takes a moment to inspect it, rolling it over in his hand, and looks back at what Phil assumes to be his brother. He looks back to the berry, takes one last look at it, and puts it in his mouth. Half a second after he first starts chewing it, the boy freezes. He begins breathing erradically, breathing in horrible short gasps that do nothing to help him. His eyes widen, and he falls to his knees, still trying to breathe in.

Shit. _Poison_. Phil moves a lot faster than he would have though himself capable after so much walking, crouching down next to the kid and working quickly. He careful maneuvers the kid into a better position and pulls out the bottle of milk he has for moments exactly like this.

“Here, drink this,” he says, already holding the bottle to the boy’s lips. He drinks some, process interrupted by his shuddering breaths. Phil encourages him to drink more, and soon the boy is sitting up, supported by Phil’s hand on his back, and drinking great gulps of milk like he hasn’t had anything to drink in years. Judging by the look of the boy, he might not be being too hyperbolic. He’s covered in what Phil now recognizes as ash, shaking and weak. There are tear stains running through the soot on his skin.

Suddenly, the boy stops drinking, looking to the younger blonde boy that was sitting beside him, staring silently and grasping his hand and shirt tightly with both hands.

“Here, Tommy,” he says, handing the bottle to his brother. Tommy takes it and gulps it down, finishing the entire bottle in a matter of seconds. Phil watches them carefully, hand still on the older child’s back, trying to figure out what to do next. Do these kids have parents? Someone looking out for them? It doesn’t look like it. Where are they from? He knows there’s a village nearby, maybe there? But why are they covered in the evidence of a fire? What are they doing in the middle of the woods, eating poisonous berries with no supervision?

“Um- Thank you, mister,” the kid says, shaking Phil out of his thoughts. The little one is trying to hand him the empty bottle, and he takes it.

“Of course, mate. You feel better?” The boy nods. “What’s your name?”

“Wilbur. And this is my baby brother, Tommy!” Tommy waves at him. Phil waves back.

“Well, Wilbur, Tommy, I’m Phil. It’s nice to meet you. What are you two doing out here, all alone?”

Wilbur’s entire demeanor changes again. He gets a terribly sad look on his face and grabs Tommy’s hand. As he speaks, his voice gets quieter and sadder, and his eyes start glistening with unshed tears. “Our, um- our village burned down.” Oh. That makes sense. _Poor kids._

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Phil starts. He has no idea how to handle situations like this- there’s a reason he tends to travel alone. “Do you have anyone to look after you?” Wilbur shakes his head, and a silent tear travels down his face. He wipes it away in a quick motion. _Well now what?_ He can’t just leave these kids here, alone in the woods with nowhere to go. Before he even gets a chance to truly think things over, however, his mouth is already working.

“You can come with me, if you’d like.” He has no idea how to take care of kids.

“Really?”

Phil nods, silently cursing himself and the universe, and helps the kid to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil isn't necessarily the best equipped to take care of kids, but it's too late for him now.
> 
> Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but like I said, I wrote it a while ago. It's not perfect, but it exists and that's what counts.
> 
> Also! This is unrelated to the story but: 
> 
> Why don't you take a walk with me? The weather is lovely.
> 
> https://discord.gg/xHxu5unUf2
> 
> (aka my friends and i made an arg and we need some people to hop in and try investigating. if you're interested, don't be scared to drop by! it's a lot of fun)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the journey begins
> 
> tw: panic attack, that should be it

“Where are we going?” Wilbur asks from his place at Phil’s side. He has Tommy in both his arms, and if he’s sore he hasn’t complained. Phil had tried to carry the small boy earlier, but Wilbur had vehemently refused, grasping his brother close.

“I’ve got a house a ways this way, maybe a week’s travel from here. We’re going there.” Phil responds. Wilbur nods at this, before slowing slightly, eyebrows furrowed. Phil slows with him, not wanting to leave the boy behind, and looks at him curiously. “Is everything alright?” he asks, after Wilbur stops and looks at him.

“Yeah, but-” Phil grows concerned at the pause. “Why are you so far from your home?” Wilbur finally asks, genuinely confused. Spending all your time in one village and never traveling would do that to a person, Phil supposes.

“Well, I, uh-” He’s not entirely sure how to explain that ‘home’ isn’t really the house he lives in, so instead he settles with an almost honest “I like traveling, I guess.” Wilbur seems satisfied with the answer, and resumes walking at Phil’s side.

It’s only about ten minutes later that they come up on a large clearing, smelling of smoke and burnt flesh. Phil almost gags at the smell, and the boy beside him freezes, staring ahead at the blackened skeletons that had once been buildings. He’s shaking, grabbing his brother even tighter, and tears are filling his eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Phil moves quickly, using his body and wings to block the sight, and bends down so he’s level with Wilbur. Tommy is in his arms, crying. Gently, Phil reaches out. “Hey mate, it’s ok,” he says, carefully resting his hands on Wilbur’s shoulders. That seems to snap him back to awareness, tears having begun to stream down his face, and he looks Phil in the eye, searching for safety and comfort. Phil does his best, continuing to whisper quiet, soothing words to the boys and encouraging Wilbur to sit down, because if he doesn’t Phil’s scared he’s going to fall over with how hard he’s shaking.

Somehow, the boy winds up clinging to the front of Phil’s robes, holding him and his brother close. Tommy is clutching Wilbur’s collar with both hands, face in his shirt and back to the older man, who gently holds them both in what he hopes to be a comforting hug. It still smells of ash and dust and rotting, burnt flesh, but it’s here, in front of the remains of a village once brimming with life, with a boy sobbing into his shirt and another sobbing into the boys shoulder, tears beginning to prick his own eyes, that Phil will look back on and realize is where his family began.

\-----

When Wil stops crying and Tommy quiets in his arms, Phil makes a decision. They won’t be walking through this village, nor will they be walking for the rest of the day. His feet are still sore, yes, but these kids are still exhausted. Fuck. Have they eaten today? Had any water? He’s only known them for about 20 minutes, but parental instincts he didn’t even know he had are starting to take over. These kids need food, water, shelter, and a good bath and they need it sooner than a week from now.

If he flies, he’ll be faster. He hasn’t carried anyone in flight in years (not since that time he took a girl he wanted to impress to the skies. She’d slipped from his grasp, and in the heat of the moment, he dove to catch her. Thankfully, she wasn’t hurt, but the shaken way she told him to go and the sore muscles he’d had at the base of his wings and in his shoulders, plus the sheer panic he’d felt when he lost his grip, made him swear he’d never do it again), but he’s willing to try again. For these boys, who are scared and lost and traumatized.

Gently, he readjusts the bag at his side, finding the small clip that connects it to his belt and holds it in place for flight. He shifts Wilbur to be more to his side, holding him tight and gesturing for the boy to return the action. Wilbur hesitates when Phil tries to carefully pry Tommy out of his arms, but he’s clearly a clever kid, so he lets his brother go just long enough for Phil to get a good grip on him, and then he holds the kids hand across Phil’s chest. His wings stretch, flap once, twice, and they’re in the air, soaring over the ruins and above the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't realize when i was writing this how short the chapters are, so sorry about that lol
> 
> Also! This is unrelated to the story but:
> 
> Why don't you take a walk with me? The weather is lovely.
> 
> https://discord.gg/xHxu5unUf2
> 
> (aka my friends and i made an arg and we need some people to hop in and try investigating. if you're interested, don't be scared to drop by! it's a lot of fun)

**Author's Note:**

> it's only uphill from here i promise
> 
> also i wrote this a while ago and then never posted it so here i am, finally posting it


End file.
